


Upping His Game

by TheGreatSporkWielder



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, post-episode 83
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 12:06:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/661823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatSporkWielder/pseuds/TheGreatSporkWielder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Seriously,” Lizzie said, taking a deep breath. “I’m pretty sure you win for best costume theater moment ever, right there.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Upping His Game

“Oh, God,” Lizzie gasped between giggles, “I think that’s the best thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Darcy sat back on the sofa next to her and pulled the wig from his head, trying not to think of how mussed his hair must be. Now that the camera was off and he was out of character, the self-consciousness he’d felt when she’d first asked him to costume theater with her was beginning to come back and he could feel his chin, of its own volition, tucking back towards his neck. But before he’d completed the habitual movement, he found himself looking over at Lizzie, who was now leaning back against the sofa, one hand to her abdomen as she made a valiant effort to contain herself.

“Seriously,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I’m pretty sure you win for best costume theater moment ever, right there.”

He felt himself smiling slightly even as his fingers curled nervously into the synthetic hair of the wig in his hands. “Is it because it was actually humorous or because I was the one performing?” he asked.

“Both?” Lizzie replied, smiling up at him, and Darcy’s heart, which had been racing since the moment her hand had brushed against his shoulder, pounded against his ribs.

“Well,” he said, dropping his eyes from her face to the wig in his lap, “I’m glad I was able to be of service, even if we didn’t actually make it through the scenario we were supposed to be enacting.”

“That’s okay,” Lizzie replied, and out of the corner of his eye, Darcy saw her give a careless shrug and sit up. He nearly jumped when she reached for the wig and he hoped she didn’t notice the way he had to detangle his fingers from the wig’s curls as she pulled it out of his grasp. “We can finish it now, if you like.”

“What?” His startled gaze met her amused one.

Lizzie reached up and placed the wig back on his head, and Darcy kept his eyes glued to her face and tried not to notice the way her fingers slid along his hairline and through his hair as she slipped the wig into place. “After all,” she pointed out, sitting back in her seat, “we never did finish that interview for my independent study project.”

“And this counts as a portion of it?” he inquired, raising a skeptical brow.

“No,” she replied cheerfully. “I just want to see you be Fitz some more.”

His eyes darted over to the camera.

“No,” Lizzie repeated, and even through his suitcoat, Darcy felt the tips of her fingers ghosting over his forearm. “Not for them. Just you and me.”

Darcy held her gaze for one long moment, drinking in the way her face lit up when she smiled, and marveling at the idea that this breathtaking smile was for _him,_  before nodding. “On one condition,” he declared, reaching up to adjust the wig.

“And what’s that?”

He held up his wrist so she could see his watch, and a small portion of his mind wondered if Fitz would call this ‘upping his game.’ “We finish that interview over lunch. I’m starving.”  


End file.
